Quitting
by pottachu
Summary: Millie, Meryl, and Vash have volunteered Wolfwood to quit smoking. Although Cigarette addiction can be deadly, having three non-smokers aid the Priest can be just as health hazardous. Tempers, insanity and a dash of WXMil. Rated T for smoking… obviously
1. Faulty Resolution

"Here, I'll carry all these things."

"Are you sure Mr. Priest? That's a lot of bags."

"Sure, I'm sure." Wolfwood answered his arms full of groceries. "Just pick up my stuff."

Millie grabbed Wolfwood's bag. Two small boxes were tucked away inside. In contrast, her and Meryl's bags were bulging and weighing down the Priest's arms. His shoulders swooped under the weight, but he showed no sign of straining.

When they reached the exit, Millie took the initiative to open the door for him.

Outside, the suns were shinning and the sky was radiating a predictable blue. A few people were commuting on the sidewalks. Some were laughing and some were grumbling.

"So what are all these for?" Wolfwood asked the tall insurance girl.

He had bumped into her unexpectedly at the store, and one way or another he ended up following her through the check-out. He was surprised she had even made it that far with all of her food supplies.

"Ms. Meryl has decided that we should make cake, pudding, brownies, and some cookies in celebration of our good news."

"Which would be…?"

Millie smiled. "Mr. Priest, we both got a significant raise from the Bernardeli Insurance Society for keeping Vash the Stampede in line the last few months. Ms. Meryl was so pleased, she started cooking right away. But then she realized we needed more ingredients and she sent me to go get them because the brownies were already in the oven and she didn't want to leave them with Mr. Vash."

"I see." Wolfwood answered.

They turned down another street, Wolfwood following Millie. He hadn't seen the insurance girls or Vash for nearly a month, and was mildly surprised to run into Millie. He knew they were in this little town, but he hadn't taken the initiative to seek out the blond gunman.

"Could you hand me one of those?" Wolfwood asked.

He nodded to his small bag.

Millie pulled out one of the small packs of cigarettes. Carefully, she opened it and pulled a stick free. Wolfwood came to a stop at the corner and put down some of her cooking ingredients. He grabbed the skinny little cigarette. Pulling out a lighter, he lit the end and inserted it into his mouth. He took a deep breath and they continued on their way.

Wolfwood felt a delicious sense of relief as they traveled onward. The silence that occupied them broke after several minutes.

"Mr. Wolfwood," Millie spoke. "These don't sound very healthy."

"What doesn't sound healthy?" He carefully mumbled.

His dark eyes wandered to Millie, who was studying the pack of cigarettes.

"Your cigarettes," She answered. "Did you look on the back? There's a very long warning list," she pointed out. "May cause lung cancer, heart disease, Emphysema, complications in pregnancy, contains hazardous—"

"Ok, I get it," he mumbled with more force than intended. He restrained from pointing out the fact that he was unlikely to become pregnant any time soon.

Wolfwood knew that Millie only had good intentions, but he didn't want to listen to the possible symptoms anymore. He knew what they were, but he had been smoking for years and so far so good. He had never been to the doctor's because of his smoking problems, and smoking didn't really seem like it had much of an affect on him. On the contrary, the habit always kept him occupied, calm, cool, and collected. He always had something to do when he had nothing to do.

Millie's silence, however, brought a new sense of guilt.

Wolfwood carefully removed his current cigarette, stepping on its fiery remains.

"Nothing has happened to me yet," he assured, trying feebly to retrieve her chipper mood that had been lost.

"But Mr. Wolfwood, what if something does?" She asked

"Don't worry about it. I've been smoking for years."

This comment only seemed to dampen the insurance girl more. She frowned, causing the Priest to feel more uncomfortable.

"It's nothing serious," he insisted, "it's just something I do."

He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see how she would take it. It didn't work. She looked put-out, almost like a child who had been denied a birthday.

"Don't look like that," he frowned.

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile. "I know it would be hard Mr. Wolfwood, but you should quit."

"Quit?" He asked.

Millie nodded. "You can do it," she insisted.

Quitting… he had tried it before and evidently it had been unsuccessful. Not only had the experience been excruciating, but he was perfectly fine with smoking. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"Yeah, alright." He answered offhandedly, and finally the insurance girl looked delighted. As long as the idea kept her happy, he wouldn't worry about it. She obviously didn't like it when people smoked around her. He could keep to that.

Then suddenly Millie happily let his grocery bag hit the bottom of the closest public trash can.

His heart sunk.

"Hey, I paid for that," he frowned.

"But you're quitting," she reminded.

"Already? Right now?" He asked

She giggled. "Of course Mr. Wolfwood, the sooner the better."

Now his spirits dampened. Immediately, he wished he could turn around and pick up the remains of his last cigarette (which had been trampled ruthlessly on the sidewalk). He tried to remember precisely where he had let it fall. His dark eyes wandered back to her.

"You want me to quit today? Right now?" He asked again.

"What did you think I meant, Mr. Priest? Oh Ms. Meryl will be so pleased. She's always complaining about all that smoke you carry around. She doesn't really like that smell, and I guess it gets on her, because then she complains all day about it. Actually, it puts her in a really bad mood, Mr. Priest."

Maybe it was the heat, or just the idea, but Wolfwood was beginning to have difficulty breathing and more than ever he wanted his cigarettes. He was feeling ill and out of place, even dizzy.

He barely noticed walking up the steps of their destination and was unaware when Millie announced their arrival. All he needed to do was put down the groceries and he could leave.


	2. Unexpected

The newly bought baking goods and cooking supplies were dropped off on the kitchen table, adding drastically to the clutter on its surface. Pots, pans, and spatulas were already making themselves comfortable on it. Cook books were open on the counter and island. A thick one that was covered in abnormally large font had a trail of flour over its pages. Another cookbook displayed water damage.

Wolfwood heaved a sigh. His fingers left the handles of the plastic grocery bags. He could leave.

But before he could bid the insurance girls farewell, the infamous spiky-haired outlaw poked his head into the room. He cast a whining expression over at the Priest and Millie.

"Hey, this place isn't a restaurant," the outlaw pointed out. "Are you bringing all _your_ food to cook over at my house too?" He asked Wolfwood with a hint of annoyance.

Wolfwood only took in half of what the outlaw had said. The other half was lost in his muddled brain, which seemed to be functioning worse the further away he was from his trampled cigarette.

"These girls just marched in here, interrupting my privacy," Vash explained. He was in front of Wolfwood now, glaring at him.

"But Mr. Vash, we don't have a kitchen in our hotel room and we asked nicely," Millie reminded.

Quickly, she began removing all the baking ingredients from the grocery bags. Meryl was checking the oven at the other end of the kitchen.

Wolfwood could tell by the look on Vash's face that in his opinion the insurance girls hardly asked at all. This idea was probably true. Judging by their excitement, both of the insurance girls were probably already inside the house when they had asked Vash for permission to use the kitchen.

"It doesn't matter anyway, I was just helping Millie here bring back some ingredients," Wolfwood explained, echoing the outlaw's edge. "Actually, I'm leaving right now."

Vash's face softened unexpectedly, but he said nothing.

Millie had finished unpacking the groceries. Instead of all the items being in bags on top of the table, they were stacked on top of one another, bare, on the table. Without the bags, the table looked more cluttered than before. The artificial light reflected off of several containers. She had just put down a new bottle of vanilla extract when she looked back up at the Priest with her bright, blue eyes.

"Are you leaving already Mr. Wolfwood? You know, we could really use your help if you're not busy."

"Vash doesn't look like he's doing anything," Wolfwood pointed out automatically. He was feeling eager to get out of the house, to find a pack of his dear friend.

Millie glanced sideways at the blond. "Ms. Meryl doesn't trust him in the kitchen." She whispered loudly.

"I've seen Vash cook, and he does just fine," Wolfwood argued, not bothering to keep his voice down.

At once, Vash's eyes darted to Meryl, hoping she had heard the compliment. Perhaps now he would have permission to use _his own_ kitchen. Unfortunately, the small insurance girl gave no notice of the Priest's word. Instead, she turned on the faucet next to the sink and began filling up a dirty mixing bowl.

"Millie, will you wash this bowl out? We need to get started on the brownies," Meryl explained.

Either she had entirely missed the entrance of the Priest, or she was choosing to ignore it. Vash was betting on the latter.

"I'm on it!" Millie rushed to the job.

Wolfwood felt a small amount of tension fall away from him. Vash's eyes returned to him, staring at him, with an unusual expression. The Priest didn't bother nor care to ask what was on the outlaw's mind. Finally, he would be able to sneak away from the little house. He turned to exit the room once more, when Millie loudly announced Wolfwood's promise.

"Mr. Wolfwood is going to quit smoking."

Meryl shut the refrigerator abruptly. The kitchen appliance looked battered, and at the bottom the fan had apparently broken. The front of it was completely missing, leaving an opening. Her violet eyes landed on the Priest, joining Vash's stare, which was now oddly surprised.

"When are you starting?" Vash asked at once. "Are you starting now?"

The edge that had been in the outlaw's voice only moments ago, evaporated. Suddenly, it had been replaced with obnoxious enthusiasm and idiotic ramblings.

Before Wolfwood knew it, Vash had put his arm around him and was calling out joyously.

"Oh what a glorious day!" The outlaw cried. "Come on insurance girls, you two got to brew up something delicious and special for this hard-working priest! Today marks a moment of change! Endurance," Vash pounded the kitchen table with his fist, "tension,"—and again—"withdrawal!" On the final hit, a tower of boxes toppled over. He laughed loudly.

Wolfwood, who was thoroughly taken aback by the outlaw's unpredictable outbreak of joy, tried to rip himself away from Vash. To his surprise, he was unsuccessful. Vash's left arm was squashing him.

"Redemption!" Vash cried happily, his wrist jabbing into Wolfwood's rib.

"What?!" Was the only word Wolfwood could spring from his lips.

Since his arrival Vash's mood swings had been unpredictable. The word _redemption_ rarely spewed from the needlenoggin's mouth, and the fact it had entered the conversation in reference to Wolfwood's predicament was nearly offensive.

"That's unexpected. What changed your mind?" Meryl asked. The question was represented with caution as if she was afraid Wolfwood would suddenly sprout wing and breathe fire all over her cook books… or perhaps she was just worried about Vash's behavior.

"Agency!" Vash answered before Wolfwood's mind could digest the question.

Just then the buzzer went off on the oven. Meryl went to silence it, but her attempt was unsuccessful. The buzzer continued loudly over Vash's idiotic ramblings.

"…The conquering of addiction… the taste of freedom…Love and Peace!"

BBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

Meryl twisted and contorted the knob in various positions, but it persisted. The bug-like noise wore on her patience. Millie came to her aide, turning the knob several times and putting it in abnormal positions until it popped off completely. The cylinder shape clattered and rolled across the kitchen floor, escaping under the fridge.

The buzzing continued.

"Mr. Vash, the timer won't stop," Millie pointed out innocuously to the gunman. "I think it's broken. It popped off and rolled under the fridge."

"Oh, you have to push it in, wiggle it, and _then _turn it to the right," Vash responded with ease. He finally let go of Wolfwood. "I'm surprised it even works at all after all these years," he added.

Apparently, Meryl had given up on it entirely. She put on a worn pair of yellow oven mitts, and opened the oven.

An enormous cloud of smoke eschewed from the depths of the dirty unknown. The dark enemy blew passed her head, causing her eyes to water and skin to redden. Holding her breath, she mustered up some courage and quickly grasped the cookie sheet. She dumped it on a safer surface and shut the oven with her hip, while coughing.

The mushroom-like shape of smoke began to file out through the room, darting to the ceiling and then gradually spreading over the surface like an ominous omen. Wolfwood watched it swirl and tumble over itself. As it darkened the room, it reminded him terribly of what _wasn't_ in his pocket.

The obnoxious buzzing continued and Millie was now reaching under the dirty fridge, groping for the tiny little cylinder. With a frayed old broom in hand, Vash came to her side. One fast jerk and the bristles were under the fridge. Vash swiftly swept out a surplus of debris, which included crumbs of old molded food, a light bulb, the buzzer knob, a rag, and a large fat rat.

Millie jumped in surprise.

The rodent was demented. Half of its body was naked. Bald spots revealed its fat lumpy stature. In fact, a closer look revealed that its massive stomach was barely off the ground and was bulging at the sides. Its tail was limp and its whiskers were twisted. The fur that was remaining was knotted and wiry like rusted steal wool. Prickly nails protruded from all of its toes but one, which looked like it had been shut in a door.

Suddenly, the rat darted away from them and ran straight into Meryl's shoe. She looked down. Her eyes found its one, pulsing, red eye. She let out a small shriek and nearly stepped on it as she tried to dart away. But the rat stayed close to her, its nails apparently caught on her shoe. She shook her foot vigorously in the air until it plopped on the floor. Then she scattered away from it.

Wolfwood was abruptly brought into action. Yanking the broom from the outlaw's hand, he went after the hideous creature.

Half blind, the rat scurried around the room. It hit a cabinet, and then a chair's leg.

Aiming carefully, the Priest swatted the villain hard across the back. When he pulled the broom off of it, it was sprawled out on its fat stomach.

Success!

He went for it again, but someone else had seized the cleaning tool. He looked over to find a huge red coat.Vash's grasp had prevented Wolfwood's second attack.

"What are you doing, Needlenoggin?" Wolfwood ask angrily.

He tried to tear the handle out of Vash's hands

"Don't hurt it," Vash insisted.

"What? That thing is diseased!"

"You don't know that."

Wolfwood glared at him.

Vash returned the favor, mustering up his angriest eyes.

For a moment all they did was glower at one anther, while Meryl and Millie stood back at the other side of the island. Then the fat rat, breathing heavily, risked another escape and scurried anxiously back under the fridge.

Carefully, Meryl peered over at the refrigerator.

How long had that thing been living under there?

Millie was the first to collect her emotions. Cheerfully, she opened the dusty window above the sink. With stealth, the smoke began to slip through the opening to freedom.

Vash and Wolfwood were still arguing.

"This is my house, and you'll treat everyone in it fairly," Vash insisted.

The Priest looked disgusted at the news. Two parts of the outlaw's words bothered him. The first being the fact that Vash apparently did own the little home one way or another. And the second being that a garbage-eating-rat deserved the same respect anyone else in this room did. According to scripture, these two creatures were not of equal value, and obviously not of equal intelligence. Wolfwood's dark eyes narrowed.

"Fine!" He growled.

After searching the Priest's expression, Vash let go of the broom.

"Good," he agreed.

"I'll make sure to treat everyone equally," Wolfwood said harshly. "Including outlaws!"

Then with a swift motion, he brought the broom down towards Vash, who darted out of the way. Wolfwood continued after him.

"Help insurance girls!" The outlaw cried.

The dirty broom bristles whacked the island.

As Vash danced around the room, Wolfwood felt dislike for the outlaw surge through him, the cigarettes, the preaching, all the stupid dangers that followed him, and especially the adolescent spiky blond hair!

_Swoosh!_

The broom headed straight for the freshly-baked snicker doodle cookies. Vash grabbed them just in time. Smoldering heat issued from the cookie sheet. He gasped from the unexpected burning and lost his grip on the snicker doodles. He found it again just before gravity could take the sugary treats to their doom. His eyes watered madly, obscuring his vision.

Finally, it hit him. The dirty bristles swatted the back of his head. Vash felt several near his ear and a handful scathing his upper neck.

"Stop! Stop! You're going to ruin the cookies!" He yelled.

Judging by the flow of water leaking from the outlaw's once cheerful eyes, the Priest had won. He shoved the broom into Vash. The gunman dropped the cookie sheet onto the island before grabbing it.

Satisfaction finally overcame the Priest when he admired Vash's condition. The broom in his arm out did everything else. The cleaning utensil resembled Vash's extreme hairdo superbly.

Vash was unaware of Wolfwood's gaze and laughter. He could feel his heart beating in his burning fingertips.

Millie was wiping off the knob to the oven. By following Vash's earlier directions, the bug-like buzzing finally ended. The silence that followed felt out of place after so much noise had issued. Wolfwood felt an annoying ringing in his ears. He was abruptly aware his head ached. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket—empty.

"Darn you!" He growled, hitting his fist on the flour covered cook book. A puff of white powder rose into the air, lingering in front of his face.

"Me?" Vash asked skeptically. He had wandered to the sink, running water over his burning fingers. The clear liquid splashed and swirled before flowing down the dark drain.

"All of you!" Wolfwood spat. "I need a cigarette!"

Vash's eyes widened with understanding.

"_And_, I'm getting one"

Meryl rolled her eyes. Predictable. She didn't think he could last three hours.

"But Mr. Priest, you promised to quit!" Millie reminded, her big blue eyes penetrating him.

Wolfwood almost told her of the faulty in his promises, how he never seemed to keep them, how his devotion to anything always fell through. Instead, he redirected his words.

"It's not that easy."

"Oh, we'll help you, Mr. Priest!" Millie said at once.

Annoyance occupied Wolfwood. Help him? _Help him_? How? Not one of them had ever been a smoker. They had _no idea_ what they were getting into! If everyone went through with their promises, this was going to get dirty.

"Don't worry," Vash said, his mood swinging decoratively again. "I know just the thing to get them off your mind."

But when Wolfwood looked into the outlaw's radiating eyes, he felt far from reassured.

Author's note: I'm still getting the story properly set up, thanks for reading and reviews are lovely!


	3. The OJ Trial

He had never intended to be in this situation. Not from the beginning and definitely not now. Smoking cigarettes was just something that happened. The habit was just something he did. Nothing was _really _wrong with it. Everything was fine until he ran into this cursed group of travelers again. Nothing went right when he was with them. Nothing went right when Vash was around.

When had they decided his habit irritated them? Was it recently? And how much had the three people standing in this kitchen complained about it? None of them had ever told him that his smoking drastically bothered them, and now, suddenly, all three of them wanted to pitch in. Suddenly, the world was irritated by it.

He could have smoked away from them. That would have been easier than enduring this. Easier than sitting squashed between the table and his chair, stomach bulging and seeing half a dallon still was remaining in the colossal juice carton. Easier than trying to keep his vomit down while a $$60 billion outlaw demanded of his cooperation.

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" Vash chanted.

The outlaw's voice seemed to blast in the Priest's left ear. If Wolfwood's head wasn't spinning, he would have strangled the legendary gunman then and there, in front of the insurance girls and even in front of the innocent snicker doodle cookies.

When Wolfwood didn't respond, Vash did the favor of picking up the Priest's beverage and forcing it down the hatch. Wolfwood sputtered, causing a deep surge of backwash to swish into the glass. Not that it mattered, he was pretty sure that his saliva glands were annihilated by now. Spit was nonexistent after swallowing a half dallon of liquid. Anyway, the juice had so much pulp in it that it felt like it had a bunch of little backwash particles in it already.

Vash didn't stop. Once Wolfwood emptied the glass, he immediately refilled it like a fanatic. The orange liquid sloshed around inside.

"Just a few more glasses," Vash comforted. "You'll be feeling a lot better."

"You have no idea how the heck I feel right now!" Wolfwood yelled.

Vash's smile only made Wolfwood want to murder him more, and then, perhaps, burn down his house and smother the ashes in thomas dung.

"Orange juice is a natural remedy to detox your body of the nicotine desire," the outlaw explained simply. Then he added obnoxiously, "didn't you know that?"

"That's a lie! Orange jui-"

Vash apparently didn't want to hear what Wolfwood thought orange juice was because he tipped another glass full into the Priest's mouth.

"Because it's full of so much acid, it can easily clean out your system," Vash explained.

"Are you sure about this Mr. Vash? Mr. Priest looks like he might vomit, and that would ruin all of our baking ingredients," Millie pointed out.

Meryl gave them a concerned look.

"Vash, I must admit, I haven't ever heard of this theory. Are you sure this was for smoking addicts?" She asked cautiously.

"I'm positive," he smiled again. "Trust me."

Meryl had vowed never to do anything of the sort. Last time Vash had asked her to trust him an entire department store collapsed. Whether or not conflicts occurred by his own hand, something always went wrong when she was with him. And this was why she began relocating her baking supplies immediately.

"I've got to go to the bathroom!" Wolfwood gasped after nearly inhaling the juice into his already damaged lungs.

"Good!" Vash said.

Anger boiling, Wolfwood _accidentally_ knocked over the open juice carton. Its contents splattered across the kitchen table and a large spill landed conveniently in Vash's lap. He stifled a smirk of triumph as he rushed out of the room.

"Oh no," Meryl said. Quickly, she began moving her few remaining supplies onto the island, as far away from the fridge as possible.

"At least its only orange juice," Millie commented as she helped her partner.

"Thank heavens," Meryl answered with more sarcasm than she had intended. She sent a glance in Vash's direction.

"Hey!" He responded at once. "It wasn't me this time! Don't look at me like that. I've been really good lately."

Meryl didn't answer. Instead, she looked around for a hand towel. His words had a strange amount of honesty. Truth be told, the outlaw hadn't gotten into any serious trouble for weeks. For some reason, he had spent his days locked up in this mysterious house. Generally, he was in the dusty study, reading his life away. Even now, the small insurance girl had no inkling of what he read or what had caused this drastic change.

After searching through half the cupboards, Meryl finally asked the outlaw where the towels were.

"Hmmm…." He answered. "I'm not sure anymore. They used to be kept in that drawer by the sink, but I guess they were moved."

Meryl took a deep breath, trying to diminish her irritation. This man had been locked up in this house for weeks and he had no idea where the towels were. Okay, she thought, it's not that big of a deal, at least the kitchen hasn't caught on fire… yet.

…

In the bathroom, Wolfwood was slowly washing his hands. He wanted to take as long as possible. At least he had knocked over the orange juice, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. That had been a good idea. He smiled at himself and scowled when he found particles of pulp stuck between his once white teeth. Irritated, he took his finger to one, but its bulky tip only pushed the pulp in farther.

He took his mouth to the faucet and rinsed it out. When he spit, the liquid came out looking like orange juice. Examining himself in the mirror again, he spotted several particles that remained resistant.

He hated orange juice, always had. He hadn't grown up on it. The fruit juice was overpriced and he never had that kind of money to spend on those fancy benefits as a kid.

Having pulp inorange juice was even worse.

Now what? He wondered. Could he get passed them quietly enough to reach the house's exit?

Just then a knock on the bathroom door sounded. He had been thinking so deeply, that he jumped a little.

"Mr. Priest?"

It was Millie.

"Are there any towels in there?" She asked kindly.

She had so much trust in him, that even though he had planned on immediately telling her no, he changed his mind and decided to look. Something about Millie made it difficult to let her be a victim of his dishonesty.

Wolfwood opened a drawer and froze. Only one small item lay in its chamber: a shiny midnight blue lighter. Automatically, his heart jumped. All at once, his craving slithered back into him. He didn't want to admit it, but he had forgotten about it for a moment. The orange juice had been so horrible.

"Are you alright Mr. Priest?" Millie asked.

"No, there aren't any in here," he answered truthfully.

"That's too bad. The orange juice is all over the table and some of it landed on Mr. Vash's pants." She sounded disappointed.

For a small moment, the Priest felt a miniscule of regret after hearing her voice. But once Vash's stupid, enthusiastic face entered his head, he felt a great surge of pleasure again. The broomhead had deserved it.

Wiping his wet hands on his white shirt, Wolfwood regrettably left the bathroom.

In order to leave the house, he would have to pass by the kitchen, where he was sure he would be thwarted. Leisurely, he wandered to a different area of the residence, feeling a touch of joy when he spotted the back door. Not even bothering to take a last glance of the interior, he stealthily darted outside.

The suns were setting. A white bench was in backyard, and even a crude swing set was placed in the corner. Outlining the property line, a small stone wall cast a thin strip of shadow.

Wolfwood darted around the stucco house and found his way to the front of the building when he halted abruptly. There, waltzing down the front door steps was the $$60 billion outlaw. And apparently, he was leaving. His orange-stained clothes had been replaced and his adolescent hairdo was looking spikier than ever.

Wolfwood took a step back, but it was too late! Vash the Stampede had spotted him.

"Fancy meeting you out here," Vash said, docile.

"Where are you going?" Wolfwood demanded. He was sure that the gunman was on his way to the grocery store to pick up some of the worst-made, pulp-saturated orange juice he could find. And judging by the chipper expression the blond was displaying, it would probably be 100 _real_ juice.

Darn him.

When the needlenoggin opened his mouth, however, Wolfwood realized it was something far worse than thick squashed up citrus fruit.

"To pick up your luggage," Vash answered. "It will be a lot easier if you moved in so we could all keep an eye on you."

Wolfwood's jaw dropped without his consent.

Vash looked pleased.

"I thought it was a good idea," he concluded.

"Ha!" Wolfwood regained himself, and smiled back at the outlaw. "There are nearly a dozen of hotels in this town. You have no idea where to look."

"Hmm…"

Vash reached into his pocket to reveal a familiar, long, tattered, silver key. He glanced at is observantly.

"Barrel's hotel," he noted. "Room number 12."

He tossed the key tauntingly in the air. The setting sun bounced brilliantly off of its moving surface. Wolfwood clenched his hands into fists when the outlaw caught it again.

"It fell out of your pocket when you knocked the orange juice over," Vash added.

Wolfwood couldn't think of anything more demented than moving in with the lightning-rod of trouble. Following in Vash's wake was like door-bell ditching the grim reaper, but moving in with him was like running away from the door with one leg. It was twisted, irrational, and more trouble than it was worth.

"Over my dead body," Wolfwood growled.

Vash's smirk grew. Immediately, the Priest wished he could take back the phrase, to wipe off the expression of triumph plastered on the outlaw's over exaggerated face.

"Now listen here, Spikey!" Wolfwood demanded, poking the outlaw hard in the chest. "I never agreed to this. It's that big insurance girl of yours that came to the wrong conclusion. She's the one who decided I should quit! I never had any intention of quitting! She just decided to announce that pleasant idea to everyone. And now suddenly, _you're _so interested in my welfare? Might I remind you, Spikey, that I'm the priest around here and _I'll _do the condemning!"

Finally, the outlaw frowned... and then he took another stab at the Priest.

"You know, Millie cares about everyone. As far as she understands, you're giving up cigarettes. If that's inaccurate, you should tell her."

Wolfwood glared into Vash's innocent eyes. The outlaw stared back, halcyon.

"Fine!" Wolfwood yelled. "I will!"

With that, the Priest marched back into the house, straight through the front door.

Vash pocketed the room key and started walking again. The sunset was beautiful. Several clouds were changing shades in the sky, and the temperature was perfect right now— after the heat of day and before the chill of night.

He couldn't blame Wolfwood for acting so irrational and out of control today. Abstaining from nicotine was said to cause all kinds of symptoms, including irritability and mood swings. This was only the beginning; the poor Priest was going to be in a lot worse condition by morning.


	4. Moving in

Back in the kitchen, the two insurance girls had finally found a rag

Back in the kitchen, the two insurance girls had finally found a rag. Millie was busy wiping up the puddle of orange juice on the table. Meryl had finally finished her brownies.

Wolfwood eyed the snicker doodle cookies as he passed them. Their scent was enticing and they were the perfect size: big. He tore his eyes away from them and repositioned them to Millie.

"About this cigarette addiction," he started. "You know, it's almost impossible to quit. Hardly anyone does… and even those that do almost always fall back into it."

Millie looked up at him with her enormous, blue eyes. Immediately, Wolfwood felt the impulse to defend his statements.

"96 of people who smoke never quit, including those that try. 4 who do normally just fall back into it anyway. Only 3 actually give it up for good." He belted.

The statistics were made up. All of them. When Meryl gave him a quick glance he had the annoying feeling that she knew he was full of it.

"And even after quitting, I would have health problems anyway," he added.

"But you would be so much happier," Millie told him.

"Yeah, I guess." As he stared into her eyes his mouth seemed to move on its own accord. He was falling into her trap again. Quickly he tore his eyes away from hers and placed them comfortably on the kitchen chair. He stumbled over his words. "Maybe… but… well actually, I'm not sure I would be… _that _much happier. Not really…"

The small insurance girl looked up again. He sensed her burning eyes on the back of his head. He chanced a glance at her.

Yup. She knew exactly where he was going with this. He could tell by the irritation in her dark eyes that any remaining respect she had for him was evaporating by the minute. He trudged on.

"That whole promise happened really fast," he explained. Accidentally, he looked back up into Millie's eyes. She still looked unaffected by his words. "I didn't really want to go through with it. It's just so difficult."

"But we'll all help you Mr. Priest," she assured.

"What he means, Millie, is that everything he told you was a lie and he had no intention of quitting his health hazardous vice." Meryl cut in as she took off the yellow oven mitts.

She muttered something under her breath that Wolfwood couldn't distinguish.

Millie looked back to Wolfwood inquisitively. He felt his heart pounding loudly as they stared at one another. What the heck had he gotten himself into this time?

"But I thought you wanted to quit." Millie said.

"I…" Wolfwood held on to the word. He dragged the syllable out. Perhaps hoping one of them would help finish the sentence for him.

Both of the insurance girls were staring at him. Millie's eyes looked innocent and Meryl's looked condemning.

"I…" He stalled. "I do…"

"Well, then, it's settled isn't it?" Millie asked with a smile.

"I guess…" He mumbled.

Meryl rolled her eyes at him and returned to her brownies.

"You over complicate things, Mr. Priest," Millie giggled.

She handed him the dirty towel when he suddenly realized Vash still had his room key. He rushed to the window. The outlaw was gone.

Without bidding the insurance girls goodbye, he grabbed a snicker doodle cookie and darted out the door again. He sensed Meryl's irritable eyes on his back as the door shut behind him.

Vash couldn't go in his hotel room. He _couldn't_, not with everything the Priest had laying around _or _the type of _people_ he had popping up for him. He felt sweat on the back of his neck as he dashed for the hotel. What would happen to him if someone had blown his cover? Now, the building felt iles away from him, and Vash was still nowhere in sight. He stuffed the entire snicker doodle cookie in his mouth. Even in his rush he felt a surge of enjoyment as it danced across his taste buds.

For the first time in his life he felt a sudden understanding of the short insurance girl. Keeping both Vash out of trouble and in eyesight was harder than it looked.

Finally, he reached the building. He jerked the door open and nearly ran into the gunman, who smiled.

"Did you tell her?" He asked.

"No, she talked me into following through," Wolfwood said quickly.

"Perfect," Vash chimed. "I'll go get you're stuff."

"_No!_" Wolfwood exclaimed.

Vash's eyes found his. He laughed at the Priest. "But you're in no condition to carry all of that stuff, you must be feeling exhausted. Don't worry. I'll be back in a heartbeat."

Narrowing his eyes, the Priest nicked his key from the outlaw's hand.

"I'LL GET MY STUFF!" He growled.

Vash put his empty hands up in surrender. "Whatever you say… but don't go sneaking anything you shouldn't."

Vash waited patiently for the Priest to return. He watched the last sun slowly disappear behind the parallel building.

How long had it been? Three hours and the Priest was already becoming angry and over reactive? This was going to be harder than even Vash had anticipated.

When Wolfwood returned, Vash immediately took one of his bags. After handing over the room key, they exited the hotel. Vash was following annoyingly close to the Priest. He appeared to be trying to read over Wolfwood's shoulder, but nothing was there for him to read. The bag in his hands kept whacking the Priest's leg. Vash's breath was irregular; he seemed to be having trouble breathing. On the back of his neck, Wolfwood could feel its sporadic pattern. When the outlaw finally snorted, the Priest whirled about to face him.

Whack! The bag hit him just behind the knee.

Wolfwood clenched his fists as he met Vash's calm eyes.

"Do you have to walk so close to me? What the heck are you doing?" He growled.

Vash's eyes shifted from his uncomfortably.

In response, Wolfwood glared.

"I was just trying to check if you had _snuck anything_ while you were in your room…" he mumbled.

"By following me so close?" Wolfwood asked in irritation.

"Yeah. But I guess you're clean, because I haven't been able to catch a stronger scent than usual." Vash explained.

He gave the Priest his goofy smile.

"Well, I haven't!" Wolfwood snapped. "That big insurance girl threw the rest of my cigarettes in the trash, so you can stop _breathing_ on me."

"I was sniffing." Vash corrected.

"Even better!" The Priest said. His tone was oozing with sarcasm.

Vash didn't appear to understand his irritation. He was still smiling. He looked as if he knew something about quitting cigarettes that Wolfwood didn't. This thought annoyed the Priest even more. Vash didn't seem to take anything he said seriously. In fact, it appeared that the outlaw was treating him like a child.

In a bitter temper, with a pounding headache, he continued walking. Silence lasted for a total of two seconds before being mutilated by Vash again.

"Hey Wolfwood!" He said happily.

"WHAT?!"

The Priest's tone didn't affect the blond any more than a drop of water could put out a fire. In fact, it seemed to act like gasoline, feeding Vash's crackling laughter. Obnoxiously enjoying himself, Vash pointed to restaurant across the street.

"See that place over there?" Vash asked.

Wolfwood didn't answer. The question was stupid. The building was so extravagant that missing it would only be acceptable to the blind. Many people were having dinner there, and a man in a suit was standing outside with menus. Everything about the place looked over priced and it reeked of a high-class sophisticated lifestyle. Just inside the door, on the reservation desk, Wolfwood spotted a silver bowl full of citrus fruit.

"If you quit smoking, you can go in there."

"I can go in there whenever I want. I just can't _smoke_ in there." The Priest rebuked icily.

He spotted the no smoking sign by the door and looked away.

For some incomprehensible reason, Wolfwood's answer seemed to work as a further catalyst to the flame. Vash's saintly mood exploded and he started listing everything the Priest could do once he stopped smoking. Most of them were as irrational as the first. He could do nearly all of them if he wasn't smoking during the event or at the specified place.

As Vash continued his monologue, Wolfwood grew increasingly aware of the amount of smokers in the area. They were everywhere. He spotted some on the street, around corners, and in stores. Some were with families, some were single, some were talking and one was bent over tying his shoe. Were there always this many cigarettes out in the open? Or was it just more apparent to observe the lighters when the suns were down? The pounding in Wolfwood's head seemed to speed up as his feet moved faster. One of the smokers glared at him as they passed. Did he know what Wolfwood was doing? That he was a traitor to their kind?

Wolfwood felt relieved when they reached the outlaw's little house. Except for maybe the short insurance girl, he wouldn't have to worry about any condemning eyes. Vash was still rambling. Wolfwood hoped that inside he would get distracted from his list. However, he shouldn't get excited, the outlaw would probably be just as irritating inside the building as outside of it.

Enthusiastically, Vash opened the front door for Wolfwood. Wolfwood sluggishly entered.

Sweet smells drifted from the kitchen. None of them lifted Wolfwood's foreboding spirits. Life was going to be heck in this house. Vash took Wolfwood on a detour to the kitchen before showing him to his room so he could break the "good news" to the insurance girls.

"Wolfwood is moving in so we can keep an eye on his smoking habits!" He announced.

"Congratulations Mr. Priest!" Millie cried as if Vash had just announced Wolfwood was getting married. Then, without warning, she flung her arms around him. "I'm so happy for you!" She added.

The Priest couldn't bring himself to explain that the process of quitting hadn't even really begun, or that he probably would fail. He could smell delicious brownies on her and was feeling reluctant of ending the moment and bringing the big insurance girl back to reality. But if she was acting this way when he was only getting started, what would she be like once he was nicotine free?

Once Millie let go, Vash led the way out of the kitchen and into a narrow hall way.

"The room could probably use a little bit of cleaning," Vash said. "It was a guest room, but one of my good friends spent a lot of time in there."

He opened a door on the left side of the hall.

"Welcome to your new headquarters!" Vash announced.

Wolfwood stepped inside. A puff of dust rose from the dirty grey carpet to greet him.

"I'm living in _this?_"

"Yup!" Vash replied.

Wolfwood threw him a disgusted look. Everything was dirty. The bed was unmade, the curtains were faded to an ugly shade of puce, old rat-bitten papers were scattered on the desk, and all of it was covered in dust. Personally, he couldn't see how smoking could be much worse than inhaling excess dust particles. For all he knew, living dust mites could be traveling down his esophagus into his lungs this instant.

"… I'll look for the vacuum." Vash offered.

Wolfwood was about to point out that he would probably need several, and to bring in the insurance girls while he was at it, but he felt suddenly unstable and nauseated.

He put his bags down.


	5. Brownies and the Box

Was he awake? Or still sleeping? Both seemed to be muddled together.

Wolfwood's head was the weight of a sandsteamer, and his eyes didn't want to open. When he finally forced one to expose half his eye, the room seemed to spin, everything was blurred. He put his hand over his mouth to prevent the urge he had to vomit. His fingers twitched with the effort it required. Where was he? Yesterday… yesterday... last night… he couldn't remember either of them.

He groaned.

He must have been drinking last night. This _had _to be a hangover. Judging by its impact, he must have been drinking _a lot_.

After closing his eyes, Wolfwood did nothing but breathe for nearly a minute. Then, he attempted another view of his surroundings. First, he spotted the window. The blinds looked tattered and worn, and the drapes were missing. Cream-colored—almost white—carpet covered the floor. He spotted a grey vacuum in the corner. He wasn't sure why, but he felt a sudden surge of dejection when he saw it, like he was on the tip of remembering his whereabouts and remembering them would cause his emotions to wilt.

Slowly, he continued observing his room. His eyes halted when he spotted a spiky-haired figure sitting at the desk in the corner. Just as Wolfwood had feared, a flood of regret, irritation, and depression crashed over him. A flash of memories entered his mind. He was in a house. With Vash. And no cigarettes. No, of course this wasn't a hangover, this was called _withdrawal_. Calling it a hangover didn't even do it justice.

He expected to see Spikey's repulsive smile, but when he looked at Vash's expression, it was nothing of the sort. His eyebrows were pulled together in concentration. His mouth was in a slight frown, and his eyes were darting back and forth. Wolfwood couldn't find a title on the book Vash was holding, but he obviously was sucked into it. His aqua eyes paused. His hand turned to the next page, and then his eyes continued their frenzy.

Wolfwood looked up at the ceiling. He inhaled a breath of air to release a quiet sigh, but the air was blocked halfway. Suddenly, a loud cough erupted from him. By the time Wolfwood had sat up in bed and covered his mouth, Vash was at his side.

"Good morning," he announced. "How are you feeling?"

Wolfwood glared up at him.

Vash faltered slightly but then regained his composure.

"Just take it easy. Your respiratory system is starting to clean itself out. You'll be coughing for the next few days. I'll tell the insurance girls to get some tea ready for that sore throat, dry mouth, and cough." He explained matter-of-factly.

Wolfwood clenched his teeth. Having the spikey-head outlaw easily rehearse his exact symptoms was perfectly annoying. How did he even have the nerve to pretend he knew how Wolfwood felt right now?

Once Vash left the room, Wolfwood slowly got to his feet. He put his hand to his aching head. The room appeared to rock side to side. After several angry thoughts had passed through his mind, the room began to slow to a stop.

Why was he doing this? How did he get into this? He wondered for the hundredth time. He _liked _smoking!

His head throbbed at the thought.

And was moving in really necessary?

Grumbling, he decided to find the bathroom. On his way out of the bedroom, he bumped recklessly into the slim, gaunt bookcase on his left. A pocket-sized, squashed notebook fell to the floor. The Priest ignored the object until his foot came in contact with it. The notebook caved in and crumbled under his weight. He paused, curiosity getting the better of him. His eyes found the rectangular object. After waiting for his minor dizziness to stop, he realized the object was a box. He didn't need to read the letters on the front of it. He recognized its label at once.

_Cigarettes. Here. In Vash's home._

Wolfwood hadn't realized his mouth was hanging open until he heard Vash coming down the hall.

He scowled. What the heck was going on around here? Was this some sort of sick joke? Once he spotted Vash, he was going to demand to know exactly what was going on.

Wolfwood retrieved the box from the floor. He could tell from its caved-in, demented shape that no cigarettes were left in it. He clenched it in his hand. He wasn't sure what was worse, an empty box, or a full one.

"Good morning Mr. Priest!"

Wolfwood jumped. Panicking, he hid the box behind his back.

Millie was smilingly brightly. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle with optimism. In her hands was a small tray containing one cup of tea and one brownie.

"Feeling better than last night I hope," she said, handing him a cup of tea.

Carefully, he took it with his left hand, leaving his right one hidden.

"Hardly," he grumbled.

A small swirl of guilt rose up in him when Millie's smile fell. Gosh dang it. What was with this girl? She was too innocent to be around him, too innocent to be on this desert planet.

"Is Needlenoggin going to keep me under his eye from now on?" He asked, trying to soften the edge in his voice.

"I don't know." She said with contemplation. "I think he's just going to keep an eye on you until you're smoke-free."

Wolfwood didn't bother explaining that's what he had meant. He took a sip of his tea before his mood could affect her further.

"It will be fun with all four of us together again!" Millie said happily. "Since we have to stay with Vash, and Vash has to stay with you… won't that make us kind of like a family?"

Wolfwood cringed. Family with the Humanoid Typhoon? What had he done to deserve this? The insurance girls wouldn't be that bad… well at least not the big one.

Already the tea seemed to be helping, just as Vash had predicted. His throat felt better, and his air passages opened.

"I guess Vash knows a few things about quitting," he mumbled.

Wow, he was feeling a lot better. Actually, quitting the vise didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Why hadn't he done this before?

"What Mr. Priest?" Millie asked kindly.

Wolfwood saw her eyeing up the brownie left on the tray.

"I guess Vash knows more about cigarette addiction than…" Wolfwood stopped mid-sentence.

Millie blinked.

The cigarette box… in Vash's house… maybe it wasn't a joke at all. Maybe the blond gunman really did know what he was talking about. Was he once a smoker?

The thought conjured an image in Wolfwood's mind that made him laugh out loud. Vash couldn't even handle a little alcohol. No way could he handle smoking and then quitting the habit.

Millie joined in with Wolfwood's laughter.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Mr. Priest. I was getting a little worried after yesterday."

Her eyes wandered back to the brownie.

Wolfwood finished his tea. He put the cup back on the tray and reached for the brownie.

"Mr. Wolfwood, I didn't realize you were left handed. Does that make life difficult?" Millie asked with concern.

"Ambidextrous actually," he laughed nervously.

He bit into the brownie. Wow, that short insurance girl really did know how to bake.

"Really?" Millie lit up. "Can I see?"

"It's really not that exciting…"

Millie continued to stare at him expectantly.

Holding his breath, he jabbed the cigarette box between his lower back and pants. Trying not to move a centimeter, he brought his right hand forward. Easily, he grasped the other side of the brownie and broke it in half.

"See?" He said, handing the other half to Millie.

She accepted it from him.

"Mmmm. Ms. Meryl did a really good job with the brownies and pudding and cookies and cake, don't you think so?" She asked with her mouth full.

"Yeah, they're delicious," Wolfwood agreed automatically.

…

Meryl put her head in her hands and groaned.

"I can't believe I ate all that sugar last night."

She frowned at the memory. She had been laughing as she had stuffed millions of sweets in her mouth. Snicker doodles…brownies… pudding…lemon cake…confetti cake… peanut butter cookies… She slouched deeper into her seat at the kitchen table as she thought about it. What had she been thinking?

Vash popped a third brownie into his mouth. They still tasted as good as they had last night.

"They sure turned out tasty." He remarked.

Meryl looked more miserable once his words were out. "How can you eat that? It's not even after ten yet."

"I thought they were a celebration," he replied. "Are you going to eat the leftovers?" He asked.

"No…I can't. But don't eat all of them." She answered.

"If it wasn't for me, these wouldn't even be here. Right insurance girl? Thanks to my mellow behavior…"

"Speaking of your behavior," Meryl started. She glanced at the little book in Vash's hand. She hadn't seen him put it down in days.

"Wow, Meryl, these brownies are the best I've ever had. How long have you been baking?"

The outlaw slyly changed the subject. He watched Meryl try to hide her appreciation of his compliment. She sunk her face deeper into her hands.

"Hm?" Vash pressed. "Have you ever tried baking donuts?"

"Yes, but I'm not baking them anytime soon." She answered with a hint of depression. "And definitely not in _this_ kitchen."

"This kitchen is perfectly fine. I've used it dozens of times." Vash replied. "And it's perfect for making donuts."

Keeping his eyes on the small insurance girl, his hand lingered over another square brownie.

"Vash," Meryl addressed.

The outlaw quickly stuffed half the brownie in his mouth.

"How long have you owned this house?" She finally asked.

"Mmmmmm…" Vash replied, chewing.

Nearly two minutes passed before he swallowed. "I better go check on how Wolfwood is holding up." He acknowledged and left the room.

Meryl sighed.

…

"How are you Preacher-man?" Vash asked when he entered the spare bedroom.

Wolfwood and Millie were both sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Let's open up some blinds in here and let in a little sunlight," he suggested. "It will chase away all those depressing thoughts!"

With a little tug, the blinds were up, exposing the fresh blue sky.

Wolfwood turned to Millie. "Hey, do you think you can get me some more of this tea?" He asked.

"Well of course," Millie replied.

"Your body should be detoxing quite well after all the orange juice, and your cough shouldn't be too bad with that special tea…" Vash was saying as Millie left the room.

"Speaking of all these remedies…" Wolfwood started. "How did you find out about all of them anyway?"

"What do you mean?" Vash asked, nervously. "Isn't it common knowledge?"

"Hardly," Wolfwood replied. "I think your hiding something."

Vash's warm expression faltered. "What would I be hiding?" He asked in a small voice.

"Well, something around this room for starters."

Vash stopped, apparently trying to make sure he had heard Wolfwood correctly.

"What?" he asked finally.

"Why was there a booby trap in this room?" Wolfwood asked. "You're not trying to make this even more excruciating for me, are you? Because the orange juice was bad enough."

"Booby trap?" Vash asked with concern and confusion.

_He doesn't know about the box_, Wolfwood realized. The top of the book case was much higher than Vash's or Wolfwood's eye level. Neither of them could see the top. Vash had completely missed the cigarette box when he was cleaning last night.

"Who did you say this room belonged to?" Wolfwood suddenly asked.

"No one, it's a guest room. But an old friend of mine came in here a lot," Vash said carelessly. "His name was Brant Tresser."

"Brant Tresser," Wolfwood repeated, hoping it would ring some sort of bell in his mind. "Where is he now?"

Vash shrugged stiffly. "It's debatable." He answered before leaving the room. His spirits were more dampened than when he had entered. He exited, carrying the little book more loosely in his hand.

Once he got to his own room he collapsed on his bed with a frown.

_What's with these guys? Why are they always sharp as a tack yet completely clueless and casual?_ He wondered with a sigh. _That short insurance girl knows something is up for sure, but the Priest too? Awe man… how can I stay elusive with both of them asking questions?_

He rolled over.

_What am I going to do?_


	6. The Magic Room

Day four. Four whole days since he had moved in. Wolfwood found that as long as he kept busy, he didn't feel or think about the process of quitting. However, at times it proved difficult when Vash was ranting on about what he should be doing for his body each day. Even the short insurance girl seemed to be tired of hearing about it.

"Make sure you keep drinking that tea, Wolfwood," he would say. "You might want to take a nap to get rid of your fatigue" "Did you have troubling sleeping again? Try taking in some deep breaths." "How are your hands and feet?" "Don't forget to get some exercise." "Have you gone on your walk yet today? Ahahaha!"

The "walks" became the best and worst part of the day. The best, because it was a time he could actually get a break from Needlenoggin. Millie was usually his walking partner—or walking "master," as Vash liked to call her. Ever since Vash had coined the phrase "Millie, did you take Wolfwood on his walk yet?" two days ago, he had been fitting in every connotation or slang imaginable to give the impression that Wolfwood was Millie's furry pet… and that was why his "walk" was the worst part. Surprisingly, Vash had never repeated the same joke twice, but all were equally annoying. He generally laughed the loudest out of everyone at them, and on most occasions he was the only one who laughed at all.

"How was your walk?" Vash asked the moment Wolfwood had entered the house.

"Just thrilling," the Priest answered.

Millie went to grab a glass of water in the kitchen, and Wolfwood followed her. They passed the other insurance girl who was looking at a newspaper idly in the living room. For once, she looked bored.

"Millie," she called. "Did you get the mail?"

"No, Meryl."

Meryl dropped the newspaper with irritation. Heaving a sigh, she got off the couch and moodily went out the front door. She gave Vash a dull look on her way out. He didn't respond.

"I feel so much better," Wolfwood exclaimed after his glass of water. "You, know, this stuff is straight from heaven above," he said, pointing to Millie's water.

Millie giggled. "What do you mean, Mr. Priest? People have to dig for most of the water. I hear it's a hard job."

"There once was a place and time where water fell from the sky," he pointed up at the ceiling.

Millie laughed again.

"I'm serious," he said happily, "food did too."

"Wow, like pudding?" She asked with new interest.

"I don't know about pudding, but there was manna," Wolfwood explained. "It's in the Bible."

"What's manna, Mr. Priest?" Millie asked.

He shrugged. "Beats me."

"What are you two talking about?" Meryl asked. She had returned with only two envelopes and looked irritated about it.

"Mr. Priest says food and water used to fall from the sky somewhere, sometime," Millie informed.

"Somewhere, sometime," Meryl repeated. "Did this happen to take place when you were in your bed at night with your eyes closed?" she asked simply.

"Sounds like I have a non-believer on my hands," Wolfwood said aside to Millie.

Meryl held out one of the envelopes to Wolfwood.

"I can't believe someone found you here at this little house."

Wolfwood took it from her hand. Sharp, slanted handwriting revealed his name. The address of the little house followed right after it in smaller letters.

"Who's it from, Mr. Priest?" Mille asked.

"It doesn't say," Meryl casually answered for him.

Wolfwood fell silent as he looked at the envelope. Meryl was right. No return address was to be found. However, he knew who had sent it. He recognized the sharp, slanted handwriting.

"Nothing from Bernardeli or anything today," Meryl acknowledged. "Just another real estate letter for Vash."

Wolfwood left them in the kitchen. He ignored Vash, who was sitting idly on the living room couch.

Once the Priest had enclosed himself in his room, he carefully opened the envelope. He read the note and cursed under his breath. Wolfwood was supposed to meet with one of the Gung-ho-guns next week. How was he going to get away when he was being watched every hour of the week? When Vash demanded to know where he was every ten minutes? What would Knives ask him to do next?

He wondered.

His good mood was gone. Depression and anxiety that he had forgotten about reentered his body. His hand reached inside his pocket. Empty. Why did he still feel surprised after four days?

He clenched the note, and the paper crumpled and creased against his palm.

He had managed to go days without smoking, but today, right now, was different. He needed a cigarette.

How could he get one? He could tell the others he needed to pick up something at the store. They wouldn't let him go alone, but maybe he could smuggle a pack of cigarettes between a bunch of unimportant items. Vash couldn't go with him. He was too quick. The short insurance girl _might_ work, if she was somehow distracted. But, she seemed determined to find fault with Wolfwood. She would probably be happy to catch him red-handed. Millie was Wofwood's best bet, but even she was keener than she appeared. As he thought, his fingers drummed against the side of the bookcase.

Suddenly, an easier solution came to him. His drumming stopped. A small smirk tugged at his lips. In one quick motion, he reached up and swiped the top of the bookcase. A puff of dust flew into the air while several pocket-sized boxes fell to the floor with a thud.

Pleased, he examined the goods. He opened the first box and discovered it was empty. So, he flipped the lid of the second box. It was empty also. He peered inside the third box. Empty. The fourth he tore open. Empty. Number five he crushed in his hand. Empty! Six he stomped on. Empty!

_This is stupid_! He thought as his heart exploded into a frenzy. _My heart hasn't even pumped this fast on my walks!_

Yet, he couldn't seem to control its frantic beating or the panic rising in his body.

Cigarettes had to be in here somewhere!

His eyes darted across the room for any other object that was higher than Vash's head. He spotted a shelf, curtains, a light fixture, another shelf, and a hanging picture. With agility, he cleaned off the first and second shelf and discovered one unopened pack. Hand shaking, Wolfwood reached for it.

After grasping it, he spotted another pack on top of the light fixture. He stood on the bed to reach it. Although the pack had been opened, several cigarettes still resided in it. Euphoria was dancing through his body now. He ran to the dresser and began tearing through each drawer. Shirts, notebooks, socks, and important legal papers flew into the air. A pack was hidden in a black sock and another in an old shirt. He counted them like gold. Four! Four packs! Where? Where else were they?

He dove for the closet and found the fifth pack sandwiched between two boring books in the far corner. He was breathing hard as he crammed it into his pocket with the others.

What kind of place was this?

He kept searching. Whenever he thought he had found the last existing pack, another pack appeared magically before him. Suddenly, each pack he found seemed overly conspicuous. This was better than hunting for Easter eggs! He laughed out loud at his luck, and he laughed louder at the stupidity and blindness of the legendary gunman. Why hadn't Wolfwood noticed all of these sooner? This place was like a gold mine!


	7. Down the Toilet

After looking at the clock, Vash stood up from the couch. He didn't acknowledge Meryl, who had been staring at him the last five minutes with a bored and stiff expression.

"Where are you going?" she asked when he didn't say anything.

"I better check on Wolfwood," he explained.

"Of course," Meryl said.

Then he left the room.

When he reached Wolfwood's door, he knocked three times.

"Just a second," Wolfwood said. His voice was unusual. Although it had a high pitch, it sounded rough and frantic. Something was different.

Vash jumped when the door opened halfway to expose the Priest. Different was an understatement. The Priest looked mad. His hair was out of control and sticking out in all directions, his eyes were wild and urgent with a small spot of glee, his smile was crazed and twisted across his face, and his stature was slouched over and lopsided like some deranged animal. Overall, he resembled the creature his name alluded to rather than the priest he actually was.

As Vash stared at Wolfwood, he was reminded of how Wolfwood had looked when he had first laid eyes on him: thirsty, half-insane, and delusional.

This could not be good.

"Hey, Needlenoggin!" Wolfwood laughed.

"Hey, Wolfwood." Vash echoed his laugh, but added a pinch of nervousness to it.

"What do you need?" Wolfwood asked.

"Just checking up on you…"

Vash put his hand behind his head.

Wolfwood's teeth clenched. He appeared to find something hilarious, but was doing his best to keep the joke to himself. His eyes shined with laughter.

"I'm just great," he said through his teeth.

"Would you like some tea?" Vash asked.

"Sure… why not? How about some lunch too while you are at it?"

Vash nodded. "Okay, let me know if you need anything else."

"I will. I think I'm starting to feel a lot better now." Wolfwood sang the last four words.

He shut the door and examined his prizes. Nine packs of cigarettes. Half of them were unopened.

"Oh, Brant Tresser, I owe you so much," he praised in a whisper. "Now the lighter…" He smiled again. He remembered where it was, tucked comfortably in the little drawer of the bathroom. Maybe something good did come out of that orange juice trial after all.

He stuffed the packs in his pockets where they bulged conspicuously. After a deep breath, he opened the door again, just a crack. His little dark eyes peered out and examined the area. The hall was empty. He swung the door open and jolted out. He smiled when he spotted the bathroom door. It was wide open, beckoning him to enter.

Wolfwood locked the door behind him and threw the drawer open. There it was. Midnight blue, compact, and shiny, the lighter looked stunning.

He pulled free a cigarette from his pocket… and then two more after that. Holding in a mad laugh, he stuffed all three of them between his lips. Carefully, he lit the first. For a moment, he watched the red flames lick the white paper and the orange specks weave through the end of the cigarette. Then, in a final, greedy, swoop, he lit the other two.

Did he feel guilty?

_Heck no._

…

Meryl, her head in her hands, watched Vash prepare Wolfwood's lunch. The procedure was so ordinary and accident-less that it felt uncanny. Everything came together perfectly, making Meryl feel like Vash was mocking her boredom.

Then suddenly, she smelled something. And it wasn't food.

"Eh!" Her nose crinkled. "What is that?" she asked.

As if on cue, Millie entered the kitchen.

"Mr. Priest is taking a shower," she explained.

"A shower?" Meryl repeated. "In what exactly?"

She covered her nose.

Vash put down his spatula.

"In the bathroom. The one just in the other room. There's steam coming out from under the door," Millie said.

Vash abruptly left the kitchen. Determination emanated from him.

"What's wrong Mr. Vash?" Millie asked after him.

"There's no shower in that bathroom," he answered.

"What is he trying now?" Meryl sighed. "It smells worse than his usual fix. Come on, Millie."

Meryl followed after the outlaw.

"Wolfwood?" Vash knocked on the bathroom door. "Your tea is ready."

"okaaay," The Priest replied.

Seconds passed.

"I spent a good portion of my time getting it ready. Shouldn't you have it while it's hot?" Vash asked simply.

No reply.

"Open the door, Wolfwood," he said bluntly.

"Can't I get some privacy? I'll be out when I'm done," Wolfwood mumbled.

"Open the door, or I'm opening it for you. And the cigarettes better be out by the time I get in there."

"Mr. Wolfwood, you aren't smoking, are you?" Millie asked sincerely as more smoke oozed out from under the door.

"If you're not out by the time I count to three, I'm coming in." Vash announced. "One."

Wolfwood's eyes widened suddenly. _That idiot!_ Vash was being serious! _What should I do?_

"Two."

Wolfwood's hard-earned cigarettes were going to be taken away? He could think of no way to stop the humanoid typhoon's rampage. Frantically, he began inhaling deeper and quicker. This would be it! These would be his last puffs!

"_Three._"

Everything seemed to happen in an instant. _Bam!_ The door flew open. The knob jabbed into the Priest just before he was smothered by the outlaw. Three cigarettes were yanked out from his mouth. A bridge of spit clung to one of them for as long as possible, but it broke as the sticks flew to the ground. Vash pushed the Priest into the corner and then stomped repeatedly on the three sticks. Finally, he annihilated them by squishing them into the ground with a twist of his foot.

Wolfwood yelled.

Vash flung his hands into the Priest's pockets and extracted each and every single pack.

"Give. Those. Back." Wolfwood growled.

Vash dangled one in the air as he examined the brand. He frowned.

"Needlenoggin!" Wolfwood warned.

"Wolfwood, if you keep smoking, you're going to die," Vash said seriously.

"Vash, I've been dying since the day I was born!" Wolfwood raged. "Now give me those packs!"

Wolfwood stepped closer to Vash, who, in turn, stepped next to the trash can. He dangled a pack over the garbage. Then he thought better of it and hung it over the open toilet instead. After all, anyone could grab them out of the trash.

Wolfwood held his breath.

Vash opened the first pack and dumped it. Several cigarettes fell into the toilet, splashing up droplets of water.

Wolfwood's eyes reduced to angry slits. He took another step towards Vash. Frantic, Vash hurled all the packs into the water at the same time, resulting in one, large, mournful splash.

Wolfwood moved for him.

"Insurance girls! Hurry!" Vash called.

Meryl's eyes widened with disbelief. What did he expect her to do? But Millie was ready. She grabbed Wolfwood and pulled him out of the bathroom.

The Priest watched in horror as Vash's hand rose just above the silver lever of the toilet. It hung there for a moment, and then viciously flew down. It collided with the lever, and a loud flushing sound erupted.

"Noooo!"

Wolfwood reached out to his drowning comrades.

He pushed the insurance girls away, and then thrust his hand in after the soggy cigarettes… but it was too late. They were gone. They were all gone!

Wolfwood hunched in front of the toilet, heaving in frustration. He clenched the toilet bowl until his knuckles turned white. His hand and sleeve were drenched with toilet water. His dark eyes were wide and mad and fixed on the rising water. It rose up and up until the bowl was full. Then, the sound of running water stopped.

Meryl and Millie held their breath.

"Spiiiiikeeeey," the Priest growled.

Vash put his hand on the Priest's shoulder to calm him. Immediately, Wolfwood threw it off.

"Don't you know what you have just done?!" Wolfwood yelled.

"I just saved your life."

Wolfwood's hands clawed up and quivered as if he was about to attack the broomhead. Vash was so oblivious—so pleased with his actions. It was disgusting.

"I _needed_ those, Needlenoggin. Those were a necessity. And you know what you're going to do? You are going to get them. One way or another, those cigarettes better be in my hand or so help me—!"

"Calm down Wolfwood. Everything is going to be just fine," Vash interrupted. His voice was smooth like he was trying to stop a toddler from having a temper tantrum. "Your body and mind are stressed, that's why you're overreacting. It's normal."

"I AM NOT OVERREACTING!" Wolfwood yelled.

Vash exchanged an incredulous look with the insurance girls.

Wolfwood gripped Vash's collar. He pulled the broomhead down until he was bent and their faces were level. Toilet water dripped off Wolfwood's sleeve onto the front of Vash's shirt. The Priest's little black eyes burned into Vash's surprised aqua ones.

"I'm not overreacting!" Wolfwood said again. "I mean exactly what I'm saying!"

Calmly, Vash pried Wolfwood's fingers from his shirt.

"Meryl, Millie," Vash addressed. "Can I trust you to keep an eye on him?"

Meryl appeared to be at a loss of words. She seemed unable to fathom the drama that had just occurred.

"Yes sir, Mr. Vash!" Millie agreed at once.

Vash walked passed them to the front door. He opened it.

"Wait," Meryl finally spoke. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"To try a new solution. To find something that will stop this. And, to buy gum," he answered. He then slipped his sunglasses on coolly.

"But…but you can't go unsupervised!" she exclaimed.

He pretended not to hear her. He shut the door as he left.

Meryl felt unable to move, unable to chase after him, and unable to return to the mad priest.


	8. Tension

Wolfwood slung his arm around Millie and let out a loud laugh, one that was on the verge of hysteria.

"Hey Millie," he smiled, "wouldn't you like to help me out here? Let's just forget this whole quitting thing, I'm dyin' here. Why don't we just call it good and we'll head down to the general store and I'll pick up a pack?"

While he awaited her response, he plastered his face with a mask of happiness.

"Sorry, Mr. Wolfwood."

His mask evaporated.

"I just don't think cigarettes are healthy."

"Well neither is pudding!" He growled and folded his arms in irritation.

Millie blinked at his irritable expression.

Once Vash was out of view, Meryl turned to them.

"Millie, I just let the walking disaster go to the store alone," she announced, dazed.

Wolfwood's hungry eyes darted to her, making Meryl feel uneasy. She backed away from him, but he stepped closer. When she was trapped against the wall, she folded her arms.

"Hey insurance girl, you're tired of this too. Why don't you help us both out by calling it quits, huh? Just let me go get some cigarettes." Wolfwood's voice was strained, rough and dry like he had just ran a marathon.

"No way. Anyway, you think Vash wouldn't notice you had been smoking? He can smell gunpowder instantly, you know. He would have no trouble detecting the smoke on you."

Wolfwood hesitated.

"But I know you're tired of this. I've seen how bored you've looked the last few days."

"It's good the Humanoid Typhoon isn't wrecking havoc for once. Ever since he came to this house, he's done nothing but read and try to break a bad habit of yours."

"But wouldn't you at least like to be on the road again?" Wolfwood asked, hysteria leaking into the corners of his voice.

"It's only a matter of time."

"I can help speed up the time, insurance girl, just get me some cigarettes." Carefully, he placed his hand on Meryl's shoulder.

"No one on Gunsmoke has been able to control what Vash does, what makes you think you can?" Meryl asked.

Her words brought Wolfwood's mind back to the letter sitting in his room opened, the meeting he was required to go to unarmed, and the people he was forced to call allies, the demons.

Suddenly, the room seemed to be spinning. Feeling dizzy and desperate, Wolfwood hugged Meryl around the shoulders.

"You don't understand," he was saying quickly, "I need a cigarette. Most days I don't, you're right, but today I do. Today, a cigarette is a necessity. Please, we can make some sort of deal. What do you want? Please insurance girl. I need a cigarette."

"Get off me!" Meryl said in disgust. She pushed the desperate Priest away.

Wolfwood's little black eyes found Millie again.

"Mr. Wolfwood, did you forget? Meryl doesn't like your smoking, she's been complaining about it for a long time. I don't like it either. I think it was a good idea of you to decide to quit."

Wolfwood's idle hands gripped his already untidy hair.

"What the heck are you talking about? This was all your idea."

"Well, Meryl and I aren't giving you any cigarettes, but Vash did make you some tea and a salmon sandwich in the kitchen if you want something," Millie chided.

Before long, Wolfwood was moodily sitting at the table. He glared at the sandwich while the insurance girls quietly hunted for the biggest cup they could find for his tea. When they spotted a dumpy orange one just next to the fridge, they retrieved it and smiled at the white lettered acronym printed on its side: Q.U.I.T. Meryl filled it to the brim and placed it directly in front of the Priest as he took his first bite of salmon sandwich.

"What do you think it stands for?" Millie asked Meryl.

"Who cares? It's perfect." She turned her attention to the Priest. "And when you finish all that tea, there's more in the teapot you need to drink. After today's outburst, I think you better drink all of it before Vash gets back."

Meryl knew the sooner Wolfwood drank the tea, the sooner his deranged nature would move from an insane desperation to a tolerable demeanor.

Once he had finished his first cup of tea and had eaten half his sandwich, Meryl carefully sat down at the table.

"Now," she said calmly, "How did you get a hold of those cigarettes?"

"Watch it insurance girl, I'm not in your job description," Wolfwood remarked.

Meryl smirked. "You're not exactly right. My job covers everything that comes in contact with Vash the Stampede. I've already included you in three of my reports."

"What? Hey! What goes on between me and Vash is private. Geez, the three of you are going to be the death of me for sure," he grumbled. "None of you have any idea what I'm going through."

"Did Millie take you to the store?" Meryl pressed. She glanced at her partner, who shook her head in response.

Wolfwood was silent. He wondered if there were more packs in his room he had missed, packs he could hunt for later and smuggle somewhere to smoke.

"Millie, search the bedroom." Meryl ordered, her eyes never leaving the Priest.

"Right."

"We're going to make sure Wolfwood doesn't make the same mistake twice."

"But my stuff is private! Millie, stay here and help me eat my cookie." Like Meryl, his eyes didn't leave as he spoke. He stared straight at the short insurance girl.

Meryl glared at him.

"Millie," she addressed again when Millie started inching towards Wolfwood's plate. "Vash is our job, and what Vash does is part of our job. Right now he's trying to help Wolfwood quit smoking, and unfortunately, we've had to step in to minimize the potential disasters. We need to confiscate every cigarette we can find. Anyway, you can eat as many leftover cookies as you want when you get back."

"But _this _cookie is the tastiest," Wolfwood acknowledged. He held it up, tempting Millie with its voluptuous shape.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wolfwood, but Meryl is right, plus I don't want you to suffer all those cautions that are on the back of those cigarette packs. So I'm going to do my job okay?"

Her big blue eyes penetrated him, and he heaved a loud sigh before she left the room.

Once she was gone, the kitchen became saturated with stubborn silence. Meryl snatched up Wolfwood's cup and refilled it with Vash's special cleansing tea. Again, she placed it directly in front of Wolfwood with the white lettering before his eyes. The Priest picked it up and sipped it. Making sure the acronym faced Meryl, he placed it back on the table. Meryl's glare deepened. Each time after, Wolfwood made the effort to put the cup down loudly and place it closer to the insurance girl until the letters Q, U, I, and T were nearly touching her.

Meryl picked up the cup and walked to the fridge. Casually, she opened the appliance, located the orange juice (which conveniently had the label "Extra Pulp" across the top), and poured it into the cup. When she returned to the table, she redirected the acronym to Wolfwood and placed the cup on his plate, on top of his cookie.

Once Wolfwood had finished the last bite of his sandwich, he pulled the cookie from under the cup. Orange juice flooded the table. Yellow islands began to form where the pulp particles collected.

Smug, the Priest bit into his cookie as he watched Meryl get up from the table and begin searching through the drawers for a towel, but he frowned when she returned with a blue pin-striped straw.

"You're still drinking that."

Just then, Millie returned.

"There was nothing in there but some dirty clothes and this book."

She held up the little black book that belonged to Vash.

"Aha!" Meryl turned to the Priest. "What are you doing with Vash's property, huh?"

"That wasn't in my room," Wolfwood answered nonchalantly.

The eagerness in Meryl's eyes searched him for a moment, but then subsided.

"Millie, what are you doing searching Vash's room?" She asked, her patience ebbing.

"Well, you said to search the bedroom."

"I meant Wolfwood's bedroom. Why would Vash have cigarette packs hidden in his own room?"

"Gosh, I don't know Meryl, that sounds pretty strange to me."

"Never mind, just go search Wolfwood's room."

"Alright," she left the kitchen again.

As Meryl listened to Millie's footsteps, she felt her heart pumping faster. With each step, Millie was taking the little black book further away. It was the first time Meryl had seen it in someone's grasp other than Vash's. He had been clutching that book for weeks. The outlaw must have gotten distracted with all the chaos. He usually took the book with him whenever he left the house. Now he was gone. And the book was here.

Meryl and Wolfwood stood up from the table at the same time. They exchanged looks of surprise, and then Meryl called to her partner.

"Wait, Millie!"

Millie was just about to reach the hall when Meryl stopped in front of the bathroom, telling her to bring back the book.

Through the corner of her eye, Meryl spotted Wolfwood staring intently at her as she held out her hands for Vash's favorite possession.

"Thanks Millie," she said.

For the first time, it was in her clutches. The book was thicker than she had realized. There was no title or author on it anywhere. Instead, the surface was covered in fine black leather that was imprinted with wavy designs. Her fingers brushed down the cover, looking for anything her eyes had missed, but they only felt the dips and impression of the waves. While she traced the cover with her fingers, Wolfwood hovered over her shoulder. She could smell smoke emanating off him, fogging up her brain and feeding her already intense curiosity.

As her fingers paused at the edge of the cover, she evaluated her moral code. Vash was her job. She was supposed to keep him out of trouble, and he was in some sort of trouble, a mental trouble that kept him quiet and locked up in this house. He hadn't been himself. Anything that was so important to Vash must surely be vital for her job.

She swallowed and quickly pulled back the cover. The opening page noted that the book was the property of someone named Brant Tresser. Meryl didn't recognize the name, so she moved on and pulled back the page.

Suddenly, the front door opened. Both Meryl and Wolfwood jumped, and with a snap, the book was shut, but, unfortunately, still in the insurance girl's hands.

"I'm back," Vash announced.

"You were fast," Meryl said, trying to keep the book out of the gunman's view.

"Yeah, and perfect timing," Wolfwood laughed nervously.

"Millie was just about to search Wolfwood's room for more cigarettes, right Millie?" Meryl asked. Meryl had only now noticed Millie was still standing in the room.

"That's right," Millie answered.

"Well Wolfwood, I've got just the stuff to help you tolerate withdrawal" Vash said.

"Darn." Wolfwood replied.

Vash held his plastic bag open so everyone could see its contents. Meryl and Wolfwood were too distracted and nervous to notice what was in it.

"Hey, how did that get there?" Vash asked.

Meryl snapped.

She thrust the book out before him. "Millie found this and I thought I should give it back to you," she quickly sputtered.

"Idiot," Wolfwood muttered under his breath so only she could hear.

Urgently, Vash grabbed the book out of her hands. He stuffed it under his arm and studied them.

Meryl let out a nervous laugh. "What? We didn't read anything! What with all the trouble this Priest has been causing, we just barely got him to calm down. That tea of yours sure works wonders."

"Good," Vash said, "we don't have any time to lose, every moment that passes increases the nicotine appetite. And now that Wolfwood has had more cigarettes, we have to start from square one. It will be another 72 hours before his body can get rid of all the toxins he just put into it. That's why I bought not only gum, but three more cartons of orange juice and another bag of blueberries."

Vash held up a carton of orange juice, and Wolfwood shrank back.

"Oh yum, can I have some blueberries Mr. Vash?" Millie asked.

"Only if you're a smoker," he replied.

"Awe…"

"But…" Vash said as he put the orange juice back in the bag and reached for a candy bar. "You can have this. I don't remember taking it to the cashier, but it's in the bag, and I paid for it. You would save me the hassle of returning it if you ate it. I've got more important things to do, in fact, we all do."

Millie happily took the candy bar, and then Vash reached back into the bag to grab a deck of note cards. He laughed.

"No wonder you've been having a difficult time quitting, Wolfwood, I forgot one of the most important parts."

* * *

Author's Note: I'm going to be out of the country for two and a half weeks. I'll update when I get back. Thanks for reading, and please review and give me some feedback if you're generous. I accept both anonymous reviews and flames. Thanks again :)


	9. Motivators

Author's note: Thanks for reviewing and being patient while I was away.

* * *

Once the flood of orange juice had been taken care of and everyone was sitting at the kitchen table, Vash placed a large deck of note cards in front of the Priest. Each card was white, blank, and ordinary.

"By the end of the day," Vash told Wolfwood, "these cards will be transformed into quitting motivators."

"What do you mean?" Wolfwood cautiously asked as Vash handed each of the insurance girls a pen.

"You take a card," Vash started. He swiped a card so fast that if Wolfwood hadn't been watching, he would have missed it. "And an ordinary writing utensil," he pulled out a pen and continued. "Then you think of one reason why you're quitting cigarettes, and you write it on the card."

"But why do you guys have pens too?" Wolfwood asked tentatively.

"We're going to help you by writing why _we_ think you should quit," Vash explained.

He split the deck of note cards into fourths and handed one to Millie and one to Meryl.

"I thought this was supposed to help me," Wolfwood said as he eyed up Meryl.

"It will," Vash said. He was already writing on his first note card. His head was bent over it, and his pen elegantly moved across its surface.

"Someone save me," Wolfwood said under his breath.

Finally he grabbed his first card. He stared at it and drummed the back of his pen on the table as he thought.

Eventually, his mind wandered to Vash's book, and then his eyes followed. The book was on the gunman's lap with his left arm draped over it. Like everything else that had happened, Wolfwood had been so close to getting what he wanted, only to have it ripped away. Now, he was more curious about its contents than he had been before. Why did Meryl have to blow their one chance? Now the Needlenoggin would probably keep an even closer eye on it.

"Come on," Vash nudged Wolfwood in the ribs. "Just pick one and write it."

Wolfwood looked away from the book. Vash, Millie, and Meryl had already written a dozen "quitting motivators" each.

"You know, the strange thing is I can't even think of one reason why I am doing this," Wolfwood said. His voice was saturated with false friendliness.

Vash looked unsure.

"Maybe it's because this was never my idea to begin with," Wolfwood growled. He jabbed the back of his pen into the table.

"Come on Mr. Priest, don't give up," Millie encouraged.

"'Quit,' 'give up,' 'don't give up,' 'keep trying'—how is anyone supposed to function in this world with so many mixed messages? They tell kids to never quit, and here I am quitting," Wolfwood grumbled.

"It depends on what you're talking about," Millie said, "quit the bad things, not the good things."

Like he didn't know that already. The problem was telling them apart. Who decided what the "bad things" were and what the "good things" were? And what about the grey things?

"Meryl's almost done," Vash pointed out.

This knowledge worried the Priest.

"There's a million reasons to quit smoking, I'm sure you can think of something," Vash pressed.

Annoyed, Wolfwood wrote _To shut Spikey_ _up_ on his first card, and a similar message on his next two.

Meryl handed Vash her deck of note cards and cast Wolfwood a long glance.

She sighed.

"I guess I'll start on another boring report," she announced before leaving the room.

_So I can leave this house,_ Wolfwood wrote. And on another,_ The sooner I quit, the sooner I can start again._ _No more orange juice! _He wrote on the 12th. Once he ran out of ideas, he started repeating them.

After 10 more minutes, Millie handed Vash her deck.

"What are you going to do with them once everyone finishes?" Millie asked Vash.

"I'm going to post them around the house so that wherever Wolfwood is, he'll remember why he's doing this."

_Crap_. Wolfwood thought. He abruptly stopped writing his fourth _To shut Spikey up_ card.

"What a good idea, Mr. Vash," Millie complimented.

"Yeah, it is a good idea, isn't it?" Vash laughed.

"Wait. You're posting these around the house?" Wolfwood repeated.

"Sure am."

_Crap_. Wolfwood thought again as he looked down at his note cards. He could care less what the other three thought of his cards, but unfortunately, he had to deal with the consequences.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure that short insurance girl wrote some negative things about me. It's not going to help me if I'm staring at those everyday," Wolfwood whined. "How 'bout you just give them to me and I can look through them?"

"Oh don't worry Wolfwood, I'm going to read through all of them," Vash explained. "If she did write something negative, I'll just ask her to write a new one."

Wolfwood's grasp around his pen tightened.

"What if all of her cards are negative?" he asked.

"I'll ask her to write new ones."

In his mind, Wolfwood groaned. If Vash was going to do that with the insurance girl, then Wolfwood could only imagine how he would be punished. Vash wouldn't ask him to rewrite his cards, he'd probably _make_ him. In fact, he'd probably make him do more.

_This is so stupid_, Wolfwood thought as he scribbled out the words _To shut Spikey_. He flipped the card over and thought of the fluffiest, happiest motivator he could use. _Don't give up! Believe in yourself and you will conquer dragons, demons, and cigarettes!! _Then he drew a smiley face.

"I make myself sick," he mumbled.

"What?" Vash asked.

"What motivator should I pick?" Wolfwood improvised.

"You have a lot of cards, you can probably write most of them down." Vash remarked. "I gave you the biggest deck."

Just a little more than five minutes after Millie had left, Vash finished his "quitting motivators."

"Almost done?" he asked Wolfwood.

"Not quite. Actually, I think I'm going to go back and change some of mine. I thought of some better ones."

"Wow, you're a trooper. I'm going to start taping these up," Vash explained. He left Wolfwood alone in the kitchen.

Wolfwood glanced at Vash's seat. Predictably, Spikey had taken his little black book with him.

By the time Wolfwood had finished embellishing each of his cheerful cards, he had another headache and was beginning to feel restless and irritable again. Before something chaotic could happen, he decided to shut himself in his room.

"Hey, you're not looking too good," Vash noted as Wolfwood walked passed him. "Do you have another headache? Sore throat? Dry mouth? Fatigue? Craving?"

Wolfwood didn't answer as he sluggishly reached his bedroom door.

"I'll bring in some blueberries and a glass of orange juice," Vash said as he taped a note card to the wall. "Oh, and I bought the newest brand of gum. Studies show it's really affective with the quitting process, and you can have up to ten pieces at once."

Wolfwood opened the door. Someone had searched the rest of his room and had taken the time to put away everything he had thrown across the floor in his earlier escapade. The empty cigarette boxes were gone.

_Why couldn't they have taken this?_ He wondered as he found his ominous letter. Immediately he felt a depression and craving enter his body. He crumpled the letter and tossed it in a drawer. His hands felt empty and restless. No more cigarettes were in his room. His discovering the packs felt almost dream like now.

He spread out across his bed and closed his eyes as his head throbbed.

_Don't give up! Believe in yourself and you will conquer dragons, demons, and cigarettes!! :)_

Wolfwood laughed.

"What a load of crap."


	10. The Alliance

Without meaning to, Wolfwood fell asleep, and he remained that way through the rest of the evening and entire night, causing him to wake up before the crack of dawn the next morning with hunger thrashing in his stomach and nothing to do. Obviously, Vash wasn't awake and the insurance girls weren't over, so he was forced to go to the kitchen and make his own food. On his journey through the hall and passed the living room, he saw the ghosts of 3X5 cards taped and stationed on every wall, table, couch, and door. He ignored them as his stomach growled.

Once he made it to the kitchen, he flipped on the light switch, and then, he saw it.

Fat, ugly, and half-blind, the rat from days ago was nibbling on a small, torn piece of toast.

Wolfwood quickly searched the parameter. Vash was nowhere in sight. He returned his attention to the rat. This was his chance to dispose of the diseased rodent, his chance to rid the house of at least one health hazard, and, if nothing else, his chance to relieve some anger. Anyway, the rat would probably be happier if it was put out of its misery. Quietly, he pulled back his leg to give it a good kick.

"You're up early."

Vash popped his head into the kitchen.

Of course, why hadn't Wolfwood expected this? Why _wouldn't _Vash be up at _4:00 am_ and near the kitchen when he had _searched _the parameter only four seconds ago?

The rat squeaked and scurried under the fridge again.

"How are you feeling?" Vash asked for the umpteenth time.

"Angry," Wolfwood said through clenched teeth while keeping his eyes on the gap between the fridge and the floor.

"I'll make you some tea, and there's gum on the counter."

Wolfwood grumbled and grabbed a strip of gum. He gagged on its flavor. It tasted like mints, strawberries, and molasses all mixed together. Questioning what it was supposed to taste like, he grabbed the box and located its proclaimed flavor: Perfect Peppermint. He wondered who the heck was decrepit enough to pass this off as such a flavor, and vowed to find the man and challenge him to shoot-out. However, his mood began to change as the craving that had been stirring in his body—like an itch that needed to be scratched, but was just out of reach—began so subside.

Chewing with more gumption, he spotted a note card taped to the middle of the table.

_Smoking is like dirty feet, stinky and gross, so when you quit, more people will want to be around you._

_Out of all the cards, Vash chose to put _this one_ on the table,_ Wolfwood thought as he felt his appetite slightly decline.

After he had managed some tea and later some breakfast, the insurance girls arrived, not bothering to knock on the front door. The short one entered looking clean-cut and determined while her partner looked groggy and tired. Millie yawned to announce their appearance. Wolfwood perked up when he saw her.

"Good morning insurance girls," Vash greeted.

"Good morning Mr. Vash," Millie replied with another yawn. "Good morning Mr. Wolfwood."

The Priest smiled to himself and abruptly stood up from the table.

"After all that food, I think I could use a nice walk," he announced, glancing at Millie.

"We have some leftover pancakes, would you like any?" Vash asked the girls offhandedly.

"Really?" Millie asked. Enthusiasm replaced her grogginess.

Wolfwood froze.

She sat down in his place, and his face slackened.

"I'll take Wolfwood on his walk," Meryl said quickly.

Wolfwood felt his eyebrow twitch.

"You don't want more breakfast?" Millie asked in surprise, although she and Meryl had eaten only thirty minutes ago.

"No, I've had plenty to eat." Her voice started to sound nervous.

"See you guys later then," Vash said as he put several pancakes on a plate for Millie.

Wolfwood stared at Vash and Millie, dumbfounded. Neither of them seemed to find anything strange with the situation. Millie began drenching her pancakes in syrup while Vash grabbed a fork for her.

"Do you have any more napkins?" she asked.

He continued to stare until Meryl grabbed his shirt and dragged him out the front door. She led the way off the porch. Confused, Wolfwood followed after her.

After they had passed two houses, Meryl broke the silence.

"How are you feeling?" she asked awkwardly.

"Terrible."

"Good," Meryl answered automatically, her mind elsewhere.

They walked in silence again, and Wolfwood grew suspicious. He looked at her. She stared down the street, unaware of the scenery before her.

After two more houses, Wolfwood finally asked, "why are you walking me –walking _with _me?" he corrected, "I could have waited for Millie."

To be blunt, he didn't like the short insurance girl, and he knew she didn't like him, so, he knew there must be a reason why she was going torture the two of them for the next hour.

"Millie's still hungry," she answered, "And let's face it, I need to walk off all the cake and brownies I ate."

"You know, cigarettes will pull that weight right off you."

"Oh please."

They heard a cat mewing on a neighbor's doorstep, and a bird chirping by it. About a minute later, both animals became silent. When they walked passed the ugly pink house that an old woman lived in, a pick-up truck loudly drove by, honking a greeting to them. As they came to a lot where kids were laughing and playing ball, one asked where Millie was before kicking the ball to her friend. Wolfwood answered in short and kept walking.

"You know those kids?" Meryl asked.

"Sorta," he answered.

They continued walking, passed the cream, two-story house, passed the thomas stable, passed the general store, and passed the public mailbox, where a young woman sent a thick envelope that had at least three stamps on it.

They reached the shingled mansion, the half-way mark.

"Why are you so interested in Vash's black book?" Meryl asked.

Finally, thought Wolfwood, she was getting to the point of their uncomfortable walk.

"How could you tell?" he asked.

"I saw how you reacted when I had it," she explained.

"Who wouldn't be interested when he's adopted it as an extra limb?"

Meryl's lips formed a small smile.

"So we both want to know what it is," she said.

"I think we've clarified that, insurance girl."

"Fine. Let's form an alliance."

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow.

"We'll get the book from him," Meryl continued, "and read it."

"I thought your job was to keep Spikey out of trouble, not create more opportunities for him to get into it."

"This book is trouble," Meryl said, vocalizing her earlier train of thought. "He's addicted to it, and anything _that _important should be reported to Bernardeli."

"You're bored," Wolfwood pointed out.

Meryl's hands clenched into fists and she squared her shoulders. "I am not! I'm doing my job!"

"You said your reports were boring," Wolfwood quoted.

"They are boring, but I'm not, I mean, that's not why I'm trying to get it, the book, its impor… look, are you in this or not?" she asked.

"Hmmmmm…" Wolfwood bit his bottom lip in thought.

Meryl folded her arms.

"What do I get out of this?" he asked.

"You'll get to know what's in the book!" Meryl said in exasperation.

"That's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it'?"

"You're _really _bored," he commented.

A couple walked passed them with a small dog on a leash. The tags around its neck jingled like bells as it passed them. The couple was conversing quietly. By the time their words reached Meryl's and Wolfwood's ears, they were indistinguishable hushes.

"Ummmm…" Wolfwood said as he watched them go by, "no."

"'No'?" Meryl repeated, dumbfounded.

"Unleeeesssss…" Wolfwood drug out the word and then paused.

"I'm not buying you more cigarettes! The deal is you'll know what the book is. That's it," Meryl said.

He ignored her words.

"How about you let me out of the house so I can be alone and do whatever I want, just for a few hours, for one night." He didn't pose it as a question or request, instead it was a statement, a statement of his conditions.

She thought about it and then answered.

"No cigarettes," she told him, and then quickly added, "and no alcohol either," a pause, then, "and no girls. If Vash asks you where you are and I have to bail you out…" she trailed off.

"Deal," Wolfwood said at once.

Meryl's eyes widened in surprise.

"Wait…" she said, "what _are _you doing?"

"That's not part of the bargain, dear insurance girl," Wolfwood responded with smugness.

"Heeeey!" Meryl put her hands on her hips. "Why the heck do you get to make all the conditions?"

Quickly, she searched her brain for anything else that she hadn't mentioned that would be detrimental for Wolfwood to do. She came up empty.

"You're the one who came to me for help, remember?" Wolfwood remarked.

"Fine. But remember, no cigarettes—that includes cigars—no alcohol of any kind, and no girls, women, or ladies." She counted each one on her fingers.

"So what's the plan?" Wolfwood asked, unaffected.

"I thought that's where you could start helping me."

"You don't have a plan."

"Well, okay, I have some ideas for a plan, just not a specific plan. One, you distract him again, there's lots of chaos, he forgets the book, and I grab it. You drag out the drama as much as possible (which shouldn't be too hard for you), and I read as much as I can, and then I tell you what I read."

"How can I trust you to tell me everything you read?" Wolfwood interrupted.

"You would just have to trust me," she answered shortly. "Two, I sneak into the house at night, we take it while he's sleeping, we relocate to your room and read it."

"Uh-huh… Have you tried just asking him if you could look at it?" Wolfwood asked.

Meryl was at a loss of words.

Wolfwood smirked.

She glared. "You really think he'll just hand it over? He's been carrying it around like he gave birth to it! And you really think he'll give it up that easily?"

Wolfwood put his hands up in surrender.

"All I'm saying is that it's worth a try. Who knows, we might gain a little extra information on it."

"Do you have any idea what it is?" Meryl asked.

"It doesn't have a title or author on the cover, so it's probably just a journal."

Meryl rolled her eyes. "Thank you Mr. Observant, but you forgot one thing. People don't have to actually journal in their journal, you know. A journal is just a blank fancy notebook. They can write about anything or put anything they want in it. It could just as well be instructions to the city's plant as it could be a journal. I bet if we knew who this Brant Tresser guy was, we could get a better idea."

"Brant Tresser used to live with Vash in Vash's house. They're friends, but they didn't keep in touch, because Vash says he doesn't know where Tresser is."

"How did you figure that one out?" Meryl asked.

"I asked him."

Meryl stopped walking. When she didn't continue, Wolfwood turned around to face her as she frowned.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I've been asking Vash about this house for weeks, you move in with an addiction, ask him once, and he tells you. I never understand what's going on in that broom head of his," she complained.

"Maybe you should take up an alcohol addiction," Wolfwood suggested with half a grin.

But when Meryl gave him a perturbed look, he abruptly turned around.

They started walking again. After allowing a few moments of silence pass as to let the short insurance girl cool down, he spoke again.

"I'll ask Vash about the book, and I suggest we make a plan based on two," he said.

They reached the end of their walk. On Vash's porch, Wolfwood held the door open for Meryl, and then followed in after her. While she went to get a glass of water, he lingered in the living room reading the quitting motivators taped on the wall, lamp, couch, and coffee table.

_A shoot-out requires physical capability, precise aim, and speed. An internal shoot-out requires persistence, self discipline, and a positive mind. Both battles are challenging, but the victory is sweetest when it's victory over self._

_You'll get more, productive things done._

_Free from addiction!_

_Your second hand smoke won't hurt little unborn babies._

Wolfwood frowned, disgusted by each of them—especially the first and last ones, which sounded sentimental and too idealistic.

"Did your new master keep you line?" Vash asked annoyingly. As he passed through the room, he waved his little black book around.

Wolfwood smiled with clenched teeth.

Yup, Vash deserved to have that book stolen.

Millie walked up beside him.

"Are the quitting motivators helping at all, Mr. Wolfwood?" Millie asked.

"Er, yeah," he turned his attention to a 3X5 card taped to the kitchen door.

_Just follow your heart and it will lead you out of the maze of life's troubles._

_Oh man, that one is the worst,_ he thought. He nearly choked on its corny aura. _I don't remember coming up with that. Pathetic._

He tried to pass off his sentimental notes as notes of desperation, rationalizing that he would have never succumbed to such a gushy mentality if it hadn't been for his predicament. And unfortunately, he was sure the $$60 billion outlaw had eaten up all of them.

"Do you like that one Mr. Wolfwood?"

The Priest looked at Millie.

"When I was writing, it just came to me. I thought it was a great idea, so I wrote it down," she explained, admiring the note card.

"You wrote this one?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes."

"Oh my…"

With her big blue eyes, she looked up at him curiously.

"… I mean, oh my gosh. It's perfect," he laughed nervously and threw his hand behind his head. "How did you come up with that?"

"It's what my little big sister used to say," Millie shared.

"Uh, I thought you said it just came to you."

Millie placed her hand on her chin in thought.

"It did, because writing all those good things down reminded me of my little big sister, which reminded me of all the things we used to do together, which reminded me of her saying this," Millie explained.

"You really are an unusual girl," Wolfwood laughed.

Soon after, Millie joined in.


End file.
